Shatter My Reality

Distracted

Wind swirled around the room, blowing a few loose papers Deaton had on the counter. But it wasn't enough to send them to the floor.

Stiles stood, his hands clenched at his sides, his head bowed and eyes closed as he focused on pulling the magic from the Feverfew he gripped. His hands tingled as the magic wound through them and up his arms.

"More," Deaton said.

Stiles pulled in a breath and imagined himself pulling in the essence of the herb in his hands. But behind those thoughts were Deputy William's words.

"I just saw you downtown a little bit ago."

The wind died down, leaving the room still.

Stiles huffed a sigh and released his hold on the magic. His stomach rolled, but he didn't vomit, which was an improvement from just a month ago when any attempt at magic made him feel like he had the flu.

"You're distracted. Try and focus," Deaton said calmly.

Stiles emptied his hands onto the table in front of him. The feverfew scattered across the metal as if a mild gust whirled around it. The leftover magic died out, leaving the dried crumbled leaves lifeless.

"I can't afford for this to fail if I'm distracted. I need to be able to do this at any moment. My magic can't fail when one of the pack gets hurt. I need to be able to do this no matter what's going on." Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"That will come with time. For now, you must clear your mind. Focus only on pulling the magic. Think of it like a muscle. You must grow that muscle so that you can carry the heavy weight. Your magic is the same way. You want to carry the weight of helping your friends, you must work the muscle to get there."

"I don't have time," Stiles sighed again. His tone was quiet.

"Unfortunately, this isn't something you can rush."

Stiles' jaw clenched.

"Let's try this." Deaton pulled out a candle and set it in the middle of the scattered feverfew. "Light the candle."

Stiles rolled his eyes. This was the first thing he'd learned how to do. He went to scoop the herb into his hand, but Deaton caught his wrist.

"Not like that."

Stiles knew the method Deaton wanted him to try. He'd tried it a dozen times before but could never get it to work. It had been at least two weeks since he'd last tried.

Stiles placed his hands on the herb on either side of the candle. He took in a deep breath and lifted his hands, palms face down. The small dried leaves raised from the metal, hovering between the table and Stiles' hands.

"Keep going. Focus on what you want the candle to do," Deaton urged.

Stiles focused on the tingle in his hands. With his eyes closed, he imagined the candle lighting. He imagined the magic taking hold. He imagined his face in the crowd at the carnival.

The herbs dropped. The magic melted from him.

He slammed his hands down on the table. "Damn it."

"What are you thinking about?" Deaton pressed, his tone remaining calm.

"Lydia had a vision that I die. It's distracting," Stiles answered sharply. How was he meant to focus when he had no idea what was going to happen?

Deaton's brows rose. "That would indeed be distracting. If you're using your thoughts to imagine your magic working, the connection is being broken by reminders of her vision. Perhaps we use something else instead."

"Like what?" Stiles frowned. This is how he'd learned. Imagination is stronger than knowledge.

"Instead of imagining your magic working. Feel your magic working and follow that feeling. Light the candle the way you usually do." Deaton gestured to the still unlit candle on the table.

Stiles scooped some of the discarded herbs into his hand. He held his palm up in front of him. He closed his eyes. Imagining the candle lighting.

"Now think about how it feels when your magic starts to work," Deaton said.

Stiles knew the way it felt. His palm tingled and then warmed before he blew the herb toward the candle. The tingling spread up his arm before a small warmth burst in his chest. The candle now lit.

"Now light this one, but instead of imagining it. Feel it." Deaton set another candle next to the lit one.

Stiles placed his hands on the remaining dried leaves that littered the table. He recalled the tingling feeling in his palm. Sure enough, the feeling started in his palm. He recalled the way it swirled up his arm. The magic followed as if being coaxed. He led the magic through his body and lifted his hands. The herbs floated up as they had before. He focused on the feeling of warmth that started in his chest and twisted his hands around the candle. The herb followed obediently, swirling around the wick until his chest burst with warmth along with the wick.

Stiles pumped his fist in excitement at the sight of the lit candle. The flame rose with the pump of his hand.

"Easy, you still have a hold on it," Deaton laughed.

"Wait, what?" Stiles stared down at his hands. The tingling slowly faded away. Melting down his arms like he was shedding a second skin.

"That is another way you can control it. If you find your mind cannot imagine what you want to happen, feel your magic doing what you want. Eventually, you will be able to guide your magic without having to focus so hard. And you'll have hold of your magic for longer, meaning you can control the flames you create." Deaton gestured to the candles.

Stiles smiled proudly down at the flames in front of him.

"Now blow them out," Deaton ordered.

Stiles grabbed the bottle of milk thistle and poured two ounces into his hand. New confidence welled inside him as he split the amount between both hands and closed his eyes like before.

Immediately, his mind went to the words of Deputy Williams and then Lydia's vision and then Peter's words.

He focused instead on the feeling of the herb in his hands. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the wind picking up. But he only imagined his face disappearing in a crowd.

Instead, he gripped his hands tighter. Recalling the feel of tingling in his hands. Slowly, it started just like before. It spread up his arms, faster this time. He felt a gust pick up around him.

The flames danced as the wind tossed them.

Stiles followed the tingling up his arms, but instead of warmth, there was a coolness to his magic now. The air around him chilled as the wind picked up.

The flames fought to stay alight.

Stiles threw the herb forward, and the dried leaves hung in the air for a moment before he thrust his hands out in front of him as his chest burst with cold. The dried bits of milk thistle shunted forward as a sharp gust cut through the room.

The jars on the back wall shuttered, and the papers scattered across the floor.

"Very good, Stiles." Deaton nodded in approval.

The candles only smoked now. The only evidence there had even been a flame.

Stiles slowly lowered his hands. A smile played on his lips. Maybe he could do this.

*AN*
Magic Stiles anyone?